


Bridge of Diamonds

by FoxLight



Series: The Strawberry Shortcake Chronicles [6]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxLight/pseuds/FoxLight
Summary: Strickler gets a visit from his hired hand, and sees a different side of the assassin.





	Bridge of Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the large lumps of dialogue. This was quickly written, and mostly serves to fill in some information for Andaman. I hope there are still some readers out there enjoying my rubbish drabbles.

She was half on top of him, lying on her stomach, her head pressed beneath the curve of his chin as he traced errant circles into the small of her back. Having long since given up on the idea of falling asleep, he’d settled into the act of simply watching her—counting her unassuming breaths, tracing her unpinned hair as it splayed wildly over her body, and smiling at the way her brow crinkled in the slow and steady wavelengths of her slumber. Never in his life had he known such a wonderful soul, never once had he shared an affection quite like hers. The enchantment only heightened the ordeal. He’d loved her before, to be sure, but now—oh, now he could never let her go. 

This, he thought, as she slept against him; trusting him, as no one ever had, to watch over her sleeping form. Rare was the night they spent at his apartment, but he treasured it every time. He was certain that he could have remained like that for hours, if it wasn’t for the shadow he caught lurking at the edge of his periphery.

The window was cracked, letting in the cool promise of the steady night air. Wind from the mountains billowed inside, and through the sheerness of the curtains he could see the lurking form. Two hard, amber eyes, set like jewels into a hollow face, revealed themselves through the pane of glass, piercing into him like a molten lance. 

Strickler own eyes flashed as the figure let out a low, rumbling chuckle. He growled beneath his breath and then, with great care, peeled himself away from Barbara’s body.

Fastening the tie of his robe, he scowled at the visitor as he stepped toward the door of his balcony. Taking a spare moment to close the window, he gingerly made his way outside.

“What, on this bleak, forsaken earth do you think you’re doing?” the changeling snarled as he looked up to the creeping form of Angor Rot.

A low, quaking chuckle slithered its way out of Angor’s lips. “I could ask the same of you, oh treacherous master.”

Strickler’s grimace grew even more intense, green eyes as sharp as daggers as he glared the assassin down.

“I see you have taken full advantage of the enchantment’s capabilities.” Angor said as his eyes shifted from the changeling, to the figure sleeping past the curtains. He smiled darkly, “what a wonder it will be when she finds out who you really are.”

“She _won’t_ find out.” The changeling asserted, eyes narrowing. “Did you just come here to mock me? You are unnecessarily risking our exposure.”

“I came here to confirm a suspicion.” The assassin rumbled on, “I think I know what’s going on in that twisted mind of yours, changeling-- why you _really_ require Angor Rot. It’s become as clear as the stars on a moonless night. You went soft for that hunter-boy long before I got here, and now you’re in love with his mother.”

The changeling forced a laugh. “Have you never seen anyone act before? I’m playing a role, Angor. Apparently I’ve managed to convince even you of its validity.”

“I am well aware of how changelings function: how they con their way into every situation; how they swindle and lie, and cheat; and of how they manipulate others into serving their dark and selfish purpose. Oh, you have used your training well, great deceiver, but you are working it against your own kind. I have no stake in Gumar’s war, and harbor no fondness for your changeling brethren--your treachery against _them_ is not my concern, but against me, you have committed a grave error.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Angor.” Walter's face became grave, but there was a pale hint of fear in his eyes that he could not hide. “I brought you here for one reason and one reason alone.”

“Two reasons,” The assassin held two fingers to the air, “I recall them clearly. Revenge and insurance. You’re revenge is not against the boy, but against Gunmar. You feared his son, Bular--I saw it when your mind was entranced by the pixies--and while he remained on this earth, you did not dare disobey him; but now that he is gone…you seek to keep Gunmar trapped in the Darklands.”

“I made that evident when we first met,” the changeling countered.

“I am not done,” Angor growled. “The insurance you desire is not for your changeling comrades. It’s for you. You want to keep your human form, yes, but there is more to the story. Your heart.” Angor stuck a stony finger into the pale expanse of flesh exposed by the robe. “You don’t want it broken. You promised me one thing, changeling. You said that: ‘when the boy is finished you will have your freedom.’”

“And?” Strickler swatted his arm away. He glanced quickly at Barbara, making sure that she had not woken.

“And that day will never come.” The assassin’s voice rose, lending itself to anger. “Because my will can only bend as far as the master of my soul allows. I greatly desire to finish this hunt, but I can no more harm the boy than I can you. I will give you credit, Stricklander, you played against my natural desire to draw out my enemy’s pain, and I was unaware of your deception for a time--but I am finished with these little games. My abilities are not toys to be used for the distraction of a human child. I have already set plans in motion to obtain the ring, and when I do, I will kill you and every living creature that has softened your heart." He paused, letting the words sink in."But I will make you an offer. Hand it to me now, and not only will I leave your loved ones alone, but I will vanish from this realm entirely. I have served you long enough. I want only my soul. You fear the repercussions that this will have on both you and your changeling brethren, but I am only expediting a day that will inevitably come upon you. There are other ways to maintain your flesh-bag existence, ways hidden in ancient caves long forgotten by man and troll.”

He paused, and fixed his amber eyes on Barbara Lake. “I once felt love for another. I am incapable of feeling the emotion now, but I have enough memory of it to bring me pain, and keep me longing for my soul. If you truly feel for her, as I believe you do despite your pitiful attempts at denial, then you should show her the truth. I lost my love because I was blind in my ambition. I sought the power of sorcery, never realizing the true magic that rested within my heart and soul. The intentions behind my ambition were honorable, as are yours, in some twisted way, but a lack of perception is its own sin. You see strength where there is frailty and frailty when there is strength. The plans you have set in motion are balanced upon a brittle glass wire, while the people you care about have more fortitude than a bridge made of solid diamond. I know, because I have studied the hunter and his mother. The boy is a formidable enemy, but not because of any one strength in himself--he is shielded by those who seek to protect him. You don't want to risk your position with Gunmar, or with your changeling order, and so you've kept it a secret--making him believe that you were his enemy, using me as a keystone to keep all of your alliances in check." 

A long, stony finger pointed at Strickler, who merely watched him from the corner of his own glimmering silence. 

"I will not bear the burden of your schemes any longer. These humans...you see flaws in their ability to accept you that exist only within the confines of your own fragile, fearful mind.” Angor looked down to the changeling, his gaze oddly sincere. “and are running from yourself, more than anyone.”

The changeling stared at him for a length of time, his face long and sunken. He looked at Barbara, and then back to Angor, and then to the shivering stars.

“Give me my soul,” Angor lowered an open palm, “and you can spare them from my wrath. We have no need to be enemies.”

Another pause. Another back-and-fourth between his servant, his lover, and the stars. 

Green eyes narrowed to a pinpoint. “Did you really think that I’d believe you?” The eyes flashed red and yellow and, in an instant, he was no longer human. “That I could be wooed by this carefully constructed monologue you’ve rehearsed? I am playing a role. Nothing more. And you are out of your place in coming here.”

For a moment, the assassin looked honestly surprised, and then his gaze hardened, jaded as he was by the cruelty of time. “You are a fool.”  
He said with a voice like churning gravel. “I know you’re lying, because it was written into the charm you ingested. It’s wouldn’t have worked if you didn’t harbor some sort of attachment. It was only a matter of time before I figured out that you extended that attachment to the boy. You will answer for this, and so will the ones you love, with blood.”

The flicker of green in Strickler’s yellow eyes made him smile. “I will torture you,” he pointed to Barbara, “and you shall be made to watch as that now peaceful form suffers with you for every single crime you have committed. I gave you an out, and now the burden of their pain will be on your shoulders.”

The changeling growled and grabbed him by the throat, knowing that the assassin could do nothing to protect himself. He heard the hitch in breath, the strangle noise, and squeezed harder, his nails digging into the stony flesh.

“I am not afraid of your little tantrums.” He snarled, pressing Angor into the metal railing, making him bend backwards over the balcony’s edge. “You stay in your place until I’m done with you. That’s the deal. Now, go back to whatever filthy hole you crawled out of and stay there until I give you orders.” 

Shoving the assassin down, he gave a low and watery growl. This time, he couldn’t hide the emerald incandescence in his irises.

Angor roared, rose, and pounded against the glass surface of the sliding door, cracking it before he snorted and jumped away. Walter shifted back to his human form, and could only pray that Barbara hadn’t opened her eyes fast enough to see either of them. 

“Are you okay?” He heard her ask in a groggy voice as he struggled to slide the door. Angor had bent the track. Fantastic.

“Yes, I am.” His voice was gentle as he stepped into the room. “I’m sorry, did you see what happened?”

“I heard a voice and,“ she rubbed her eyes, “someone yelling. And did something hit the window?”

“My unruly colleague,” he sat on the side of the bed as he searched for an explanation. “He was drunk and threw a rock at my window when I told him to go home. Cracked the glass; I’ll have to call for a repair tomorrow.”

“Her threw it that high?”

“He…coaches the baseball team.” The answer scratched its way out of his throat. Accompanied by guilt. “Which is why I haven’t fired him. The team is doing very well this year.”

Her hand reached up in search of him as he sat back, landing somewhere near his kneecap. “Seems like you wouldn’t want that kind of figure around the kids though.” 

“Ah, the sorry sod’s limping through a divorce. It took the very soul out of him. I’m trying to give him time, but if he doesn’t clean up by the end of the year, he’ll be looking for another job.”

“Poor guy,” she said with a yawn. “You should tell him there are better people waiting down the road. People he never knew could be so wonderful.”

The creases beside his eyes wrinkled with fondness, ever beguiled by her illimitable sence of optimism, but then a thought overcame him and his gaze wandered into the curious. “Do you ever miss him?” he asked, unable to stop the words before they came out.

The question was so random, so outlandish that it nearly took her aback. She paused, letting herself consider his words, and then looked back to him.

“After what he did to my son?” The red tresses of her unbound hair shivered as she shook her head. “No. He was a monster, in the end. I’m not sure I ever really knew him at all.”

Walter swallowed thickly. His green eyes sunk into an expression that was deep and dark and, utterly unreadable.

He felt a hand squeeze his, and turned to see her blue eyes glowing up at him. “You look tired.” She said, the side of her lip tilting into a small smile. “Why don’t we both settle back down and see if we can help each other get back to sleep?”

The proposal seemed innocent enough, but impish trace of her hand as it undid the fastening of his robe suggested otherwise.

Unable to resist her charm, he smiled back, and then tilted his head down to meet her in a kiss.

“ _That_ is a wonderful idea.” He intoned, and kissed her again. “Let’s just try not to wake Mrs. Presgrit while we’re doing it, eh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her voice feigned ignorance. “I was just suggesting we go back to sleep.”

“Oh, of course,” he played along, “and I was merely talking about your snoring.”

“Hey,” she pointed a finger at him. “I only snore when I have congestion.”

A chuckle escaped him as he peeled the covers back and slipped beneath them. “Well, there was definitely some sort of sound coming from beneath these sheets earlier.”

“Oh yeah, I could hardly breathe. It’s almost like there was an entire tongue in my throat or something.”

“That sounds like nasty business,” his body hovered over hers as he pressed her into the pillows. “Perhaps you could use some Pepto-Bismol.”

“You did _not_ just say that.” she laughed, and then moaned as he kissed her.

“Oh, I did.” He smiled wickedly. “Now, shall I procure some for you?” A long hand wandered to her hip, gripping it just so.

It still amazed her that he asked—that he waited for permission. Every time; even if it was veiled. “I think you’re gonna need a little help.” 

“How s--mmh?” green eyes went wide and his throat tightened at the surprise of her touch, which had wandered _very_ far down.

“Doctor's input,” she gave him a knowing brow.

“I think I see your point,” he squeaked, in the most masculine voice he could muster.

And so it went, as they laughed, and played, and kissed, until things became more serious, and they really were making sounds that threatened to wake their elderly neighbor above. All the while, the couple remained oblivious to the two amber eyes that loomed upon them in the distance of the cityscape.

“You were given a choice,” the low voice rumbled like thunder, “and you have made the wrong one.” The vowels lingered in the moonlight as he made himself a part of the shadows once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I will never stop with the Pepto-Bismol references. Never!


End file.
